


Dreamers Often Lie

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Butt Plugs, Consensual Somnophilia, Extremely Dubious Consent, HYDRA Trash Party, Irresponsible Drug Use, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nat is a good friend, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Past Rape/Non-con, Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sam/breakfast food, Self-Blame, Somnophilia, confused about what actually constitutes sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-29 17:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: As far as Bucky remembers, sex is something that is painful and terrifying if you wake up while it's happening. As the Asset, sleeping through sex was a rare treat. When Steve lets Bucky know he's interested in a sexual relationship, what Steve doesn't know is that they have fundamentally different ideas of what that entails.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefilthiestpiglet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilthiestpiglet/gifts).



> Written based on a Hydra Trash Party prompt as a gift for thefilthiestpiglet, queen of the Trash Book, long may she reign. I'll post the original prompt at the end.

Steve’s dreaming again, another one of those impossible scenes plucked from his fantasies, where Bucky’s making love to him. In the dreams, Bucky’s always gentle, so gentle, the way it had never been between them before, with a quick desperate fuck in the woods next to where the Howlies were camped, or one of those rough, unpolished explorations in Steve’s narrow bed, quiet so no one in the neighboring apartment would hear and get suspicious.

In the dream, Bucky’s rocking into him slowly, so smoothly Steve barely even moves, and Bucky’s hand is around Steve’s cock, gliding soundlessly with plenty of slick. Steve gasps when he comes, and Bucky stills immediately, like he’s waiting for something. When Steve wakes up in the morning, tangled in sticky sheets, he wishes he could remember the rest of the dream. He’s always loved to see Bucky come.  
\--

It’s a risk, Bucky knows, because if he’s bad at this, if he does it wrong, Steve might get hurt. But Steve wants sex from Bucky. He’s said so. _”Only if you want to. When you’re ready.”_ Bucky knows, too, that he was good at sex, before. _”Taught me everything I know,” Steve had said, blushing all the way down to his collar._ Therefore, he must be capable of giving Steve what he wants.

Bucky’s first, tentative experiments have borne that theory out. He’d thought it through strategically, had planned how to make this good for Steve, how to use his hands and mouth to make Steve come without all the unpleasant side effects Bucky had experienced when he was with Hydra. He just needed to do things so carefully, so well, that he wouldn’t have to use force.

Bucky hadn’t been entirely convinced that the procedure could be completed without the pain and terror that normally occurred towards the end, inevitably, as soon as Bucky woke up to find that sex was underway. He had suspected that it could—as the Asset, he’d occasionally woken up sore and sticky, but with no memory of having had sex. He has a theory that those encounters had been rewards for good behavior, but he can’t know for sure. So the first time he makes Steve come—that stiffening of his body, the sharp exhalation, the splash of his semen over Bucky’s fingers—without waking him up, Bucky starts to believe this might actually work.  
\--

Bucky has dark circles under his eyes. He tracks Steve when he moves around the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee. Hyper-vigilance, Steve tells himself. It’s probably just wishful thinking that Bucky’s looking at his ass. “You sleep OK?” he asks. 

“Did you?” Bucky narrows his eyes.

Steve turns away to get out a mug and cover his blush. “Yeah. Just been having these really vivid dreams recently.”

When he turns back to the coffee pot, Bucky’s right beside him, close enough that it’d be the easiest thing in the world to lean over and kiss him. But Steve doesn’t. He shouldn’t even be thinking it. “Bad dreams?” Bucky asks. 

“I wouldn’t say that.” Steve steps past him to fill up his mug and take away the temptation to run his hands through Bucky’s hair.

“Hm.” Bucky returns to the table and takes another bite of his bagel. 

Steve stands at the counter, shoveling sugar into his coffee, until he’s pretty sure the blush has subsided. When he hands Bucky his own mug, Bucky’s smiling. “You’re in a good mood this morning.”

“Yes.” Bucky takes another bite, chews thoughtfully. “When you were talking about wanting to fuck me, before, and you said you’d make it good for me, what did you mean?”

Steve doesn’t choke on his coffee, but it’s a near thing. He loses any hope of every hiding the fact that his cheeks are as red as his uniform boots. The guilt that’s been a whisper in the back of his mind since they’d had that first conversation a few days back roars to full volume. “I didn’t mean to pressure you, Buck. If you don’t want—“

“Answer the question, Rogers.” Barnes has stopped eating to pin Steve with his eyes. “You’ve thought about it?”

“You know I have,” Steve mutters into his coffee. Bucky doesn’t look away. “Just that I used to love making you feel good.”

“Specify,” Bucky demands, implacable.

“I used to like to…” Steve sighs. But if he’s been thinking it anyway, Bucky has a right to know. “Before, you liked when I took my time. When I’d suck your cock and play with your nipples, and I’d lick you everywhere, especially _there_ , and I’d do it for hours. You always—geez, Buck, you don’t want to hear this stuff.”

“It’s educational,” Bucky says, and gulps his coffee. “What else?”

“My fingers inside you,” Steve mutters, staring at a point on the table just to the left of his mug, because that way his face might not actually burst into flame from the embarrassment. “I used to like the way you’d move. You were always so big and solid, but I could make you squirm with just one little finger.”

“Hm.” Bucky sits back in his chair, nodding. 

Steve waits, hoping against hope that there might be something else Bucky wants to say, a reason that he asked, aside from curiosity. But he just returns to eating his bagel with single-minded determination. 

“I’m, uh—I’m going to go shower,” Steve says, and he flees.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky shakes his bottle of pills so it rattles conspicuously. When Steve doesn’t look up from the lasagna he’s shoveling onto his plate, Bucky opens the bottle and lines up eight pills next to his water glass. Steve’s halfway through his plate when he notices them. He stops with his fork halfway to his mouth. “You still having trouble sleeping, Buck?”

“Just want to make sure I won’t wake up tonight, no matter what happens.” Bucky’s been disappointed the last few nights, but he thinks he’s figured out the problem. Steve’s a softie—if there’s any chance Bucky might get hurt doing something, he’ll be the first to protest. This reassurance should help. “Definitely sleep through the night.”

“OK.” Steve’s frowning. Not a desired mission outcome. “Have the nightmares been keeping you up again?”

“They have before, but not now,” Bucky says quickly. “I’m making sure nothing’s going to wake me.”

“OK.” Steve’s frown doesn’t go away.

In the morning, Bucky snaps awake all at once. He shoves a hand down his pants, but there’s no trace of come drying in his shorts. He doesn’t feel any residual soreness in his ass. He checks anyway, but the butt plug he’d put in so he’d be ready for Steve is undisturbed. He lowers his face to the sheets and breathes in, looking for any evidence of Steve, but detects only his own scent.  
\--

Steve frowns when Bucky lines the pills up on the table after dinner—six, eight, ten, a dozen. 

“That’s more sleeping pills than yesterday,” Steve says, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. The horrible thought occurs to him that he’s been moaning or talking in his sleep—something that Bucky’s super hearing could pick up even in the next room. “Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

“I slept fine last night. I—“ Bucky’s eyes widen momentarily, then he smiles and dumps his handful of pills back into the bottle. “I guess I’ve been concentrating pretty hard on getting myself to sleep the past few nights.”

“Sometimes it helps just to think of something else for a while,” Steve offers. He’s practiced that himself, when images and fantasies of Bucky won’t stop crowding at his consciousness. Instead he visualizes combat strategies, battle plans, or sometimes says a Hail Mary or two. “At least for me, trying to sleep has never really worked. I can either stay asleep, or I can’t, but it just depends on circumstances.”

“But you’ve been sleeping well recently?” Bucky puts his elbows on the table and leans forward. 

“Yeah, I have.” Steve grabs his dishes and Bucky’s to take them to the sink. Even if consciously he can choose to think of something else, once he’s asleep, his imagination slips the leash. He almost stops himself from saying more, but if he doesn’t have the courage to at least hint at what he wants, they might never get there. “Those dreams I mentioned, the nice ones, probably help. Something to look forward to.”

Steve braces himself for awkward questions, or even accusations, but when he glances back to the table, Bucky’s grinning. “I get it.”

Steve enjoys the little flutter of hope that comment provokes, and tells himself firmly that he’s happy to wait until Bucky’s ready for more than flirting. That night, though, he does indulge in some perfectly innocent fantasizing as he drops off to sleep.  
\--

Bucky waits until Steve’s entered the deepest part of his REM cycle. His breathing is slower, his heartbeat steady and strong. Bucky’s got this down to a science, he thinks. Not much different than stalking a target. But this is so much more important than any target he’s ever had. 

It’s routine by now to strip back the sheets smoothly, gently. Steve is sleeping in the nude tonight, which Bucky recognizes as an invitation. He never used to do that when they were young, or at the front. It has to be deliberate. 

Since Steve all but flat-out asked Bucky to do this tonight, he must need it bad. Well, Bucky’s been doing his research. All the things Steve mentioned he wanted to do to Bucky, those must be things he likes, too. Bucky’s a fast learner, and the internet is full of videos. Some are laughably unrealistic, of course, but many are highly instructional.

Steve’s lying on his side tonight, arms curled tight around his pillow. It’s almost like he knew what Bucky had planned. The firm touch of a slick hand gets Steve hard in no time at all. Bucky slides into position behind Steve, his face just at the juncture of Steve’s thighs. _”Lick you everywhere,”_ Steve had said. 

As Bucky begins to use his tongue, imitating what he saw in one particularly thorough video, just gliding around the rim of Steve’s hole, Steve lets out a soft moan. Bucky doesn’t stop, but he gentles his movements, listening for any indication that he’s screwed this up, that Steve is waking.

But no—there’s no change in Steve’s breathing, no telltale jerking of the muscles. Instead, Steve’s body, still soft and heavy with sleep, pushes back against him. Bucky dives in again, alternating long, wet swipes of his tongue with firm, smooth pushes into Steve’s body. He’s careful not to grab at Steve, not to make any sudden movements that might pull him out of sleep, but he doesn’t let up for a moment, not until Steve’s moaning almost continuously, and Bucky shoves his tongue inside once more, far as he can. 

Steve jerks back against him and spills without even a hand on his cock. Bucky stays pressed against him through the aftershocks, then pulls back gently, still careful not to make any sudden moves. He wipes a hand over his mouth, which does nothing to hide his satisfied smile. 

With his head propped up on one hand, he waits, thinking maybe now that the sex is over, Steve will wake up. Maybe Steve will let them lie here together, even let Bucky sleep here. Sure, when he was with Hydra, Bucky had never woken up after the sex, those few times it had happened that he slept all the way through, but that wasn’t the same. He thinks that might be something people do, something _he_ would like to do, with someone who means something. Someone he loves. 

Bucky waits as long as he can, until he can hear the change in Steve’s breathing that means he’s coming out of REM sleep. A sudden doubt seizes Bucky, that if Steve wakes up now, even after he’s finished, it might not count as good. He might have to hurt him. Suppressing a sick feeling that he almost screwed this up after being so careful thus far, Bucky speeds out of the room without a backward glance.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve is starting to think he has a real problem. Despite the fact that Bucky never touches him, he imagines he can feel Bucky’s hands on him. When he closes his eyes, if he’s not paying attention, he can get hard in under a minute, daydreaming about Bucky’s thick fingers inside of him, opening him up. 

But it’s not fair, it’s not, for Steve to have fantasies like that when he knows Bucky’s ideas about sex are probably a little skewed from what happened in his past. A few days ago, when they’d been watching a movie—one of the alleged classics on Steve’s list—Bucky had started to laugh the moment the dashing leading man and plucky young woman got in bed together.

“That’s not what sex is like!” he’d said, and thrown a piece of popcorn at the TV.

“I guess it’s always sort of unrealistic in the movies,” Steve had said, though honestly their playful rolling around together on the bed looked kind of nice.

“Unrealistic.” Bucky had snorted. “That’s a polite way of putting it. A bunch of misleading garbage, more like. Try showing your sweetheart a good time that way and just see what happens.”

Steve had frowned at the TV as the music swelled and the on-screen lovers gazed into each other’s eyes, bodies moving in unison. True, Steve didn’t have _that_ much personal experience to draw from, but what was happening in the movie hadn’t seemed all that far-fetched. He’d slid a little further down on the couch and gripped his bowl of popcorn. “I guess it doesn’t happen exactly like that.”

“Right,” Bucky had chuckled. “Well, at least you and I know how to do it right.” 

Steve had stared, at that, wondering if Bucky was going to elaborate on that point, or if he was just talking about old times, but Bucky had shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth and hadn’t spoken again until the next chase scene, when he’d begun critiquing the hero’s evasive driving technique. 

Steve doesn’t mind, not really, when Bucky comes out with these abrupt questions or statements about sex. He’s glad Bucky feels he can talk about it openly, really he is. But Bucky sure doesn’t make it easy for Steve to stop himself from imagining Bucky rolling around in bed with him. 

Staring at his bed that night, Steve thinks of the sticky sheets he’d had to throw in the laundry this morning. That was becoming a regular occurrence. If he went to sleep now, thinking about Bucky laughing at that love scene, casually bragging about how much better he could do, Steve would have those dreams again for sure. It feels wrong, like taking advantage, to enjoy those dreams when he hasn’t said anything to Bucky about them. 

Instead, Steve marches back out into the living room and turns on the TV with the volume down. Cooking shows, that ought to be safe, he thinks, but he ends up flipping through the channels, unable to settle on anything. A little after three, when the quiet of the apartment starts to press in around him, he decides that a quick check on Bucky is in order. It always helps just to see him, whenever Steve starts feeling sorry for himself, because Bucky’s being here makes everything worthwhile. And if he sees Bucky, just asleep, maybe Steve can think of that instead, rather than these filthy pictures his imagination keeps conjuring up.

He tiptoes down the hall to find Bucky’s door ajar. Considering how security-conscious Bucky had been when he’d first arrived, Steve takes it as a good sign that Bucky’s feeling safer here. A gentle glow comes from inside the room. When Steve presses the door open a bit more, he can see the light is coming from a lamp on the nightstand. 

After that, his eyes get stuck, because the nightstand holds a variety of other things, as well: two neat coils of rope, a jar of Vaseline, a pair of shiny metal clamps, a box of condoms, a realistic-looking phallus larger than Steve would have thought anyone had a use for, and a bottle of sleeping pills, mostly empty. Without meaning to, Steve glances over at the bed, where Bucky lies asleep, uncovered, totally nude, with his limbs flung out spread eagle, his soft cock on display. 

Steve whirls around, retreating before he even decides to do so. He perches back on the edge of the couch and rubs his suddenly-sweaty palms against his legs. It’s fine. Everything is fine. Of course Bucky can have whatever he likes in his room, use his body however he wants. The image of the giant fake cock springs to mind, and Steve pushes it away. He has no right to invade Bucky’s privacy—the man has had enough of that for three lifetimes. 

But the way he’d looked in the warm lamp light, spread out like that, relaxed and pliant—Steve grabs his hardening cock through his pajama pants and squeezes it until it hurts, until he can close his eyes without seeing Bucky laid out and waiting for him.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky snaps awake all at once, but keeps his eyes closed, as usual, to gain a few seconds for situational assessment before his handlers notice he’s up. He immediately registers the hard bulk of a plug in his ass, and wonders if some sot of punishment has occurred while he was unconscious. 

But no, Bucky remembers. There are no handlers, only Steve. Perhaps that means—sitting up in a rush, Bucky glances at the nightstand. The supplies look undisturbed, but that might not mean anything. Maybe this time he won’t be disappointed. Rolling onto his front, he reaches back and tugs firmly on the large butt plug. It stretches him painfully on the way out, but the sting barely registers through Bucky’s nervous anticipation. 

Bucky shoves two fingers into his stretched-out hole. There's no telltale signs of sticky come, nothing but the remains of the long-lasting lubricant he’d applied before inserting the plug. Well, perhaps Steve had used one of the condoms he'd provided. Steve can be fastidious about that stuff. Bucky drags his fingers around the rim of his hole, searching for any remnant—a twinge of soreness, anything—but in vain. 

He sits up again and looks over the supplies he’d left on the nightstand. Why hadn’t Steve used him? Bucky had made it as easy as he knows how. Was there something wrong with him, that Steve doesn’t mind Bucky taking care of him while he sleeps, but can’t bring himself to touch Bucky in turn? 

When he considers it, Bucky finds the idea makes a lot of sense. In fact, this arrangement is probably a fair compromise. Bucky can provide Steve with pleasure while Steve doesn’t have to look at him and remember all the horrors Hydra had inflicted. 

Or perhaps Steve simply doesn’t trust Bucky to accept the punishment that would be necessary if Bucky woke up in the middle of the action. There may have been information in the files about injuries he’d inflicted on handlers during some of the regular sessions. And after all, he had recently attempted to kill Steve. Perfectly understandable that Steve wouldn’t think Bucky knows how to behave. 

Perhaps Bucky can demonstrate somehow? Give Steve no choice but to punish him in another situation, when they’re both awake. Like a trial run. He’ll prove that he knows better than to fight back. 

His hand wanders to his cock as he imagines how it would be, if Steve did decide to indulge him. If Steve has to hurt him, he won't mind, because even pain and violence coming from Steve is better than his best days as the Asset. As he strokes himself idly, he indulges in a momentary fantasy about what it would be like to be able to be awake, somehow, when Steve fucks him, to see Steve’s graceful artist’s hands against his skin, feel the heat of his body surrounding him, hear his labored breathing as he moves. 

Would he take things slow and gentle, as Bucky did when he fucked Steve? Would he drop kisses along Bucky’s naked back? What would it be like to have full, rich memories of Steve giving him pleasure, rather than having to search for trace evidence of what had taken place? Bucky twists his hand around his cock, savoring the fantasy. Somewhere in the dark abyss of his lost memories, he thinks he might have had something like that before, feeling Steve touch him, smelling Steve’s hair, tangling their hands together under scratchy blankets. 

But that’s impossible, Bucky knows. That isn’t how these things work. Bucky pulls his hand off his dick, leaving himself hard and aching. He just has to be patient. If Steve ever does decide to use him, Bucky won’t ruin everything by waking up and struggling. Which reminds him, he needs to get more sleeping pills. Bucky pushes to his feet, reaching for the robe that hangs on the back of the bedroom door. Maybe he should talk to Banner about getting some kind of injection instead. Weren’t they working on a knockout gas that would--

Bucky freezes, the robe dangling from his hand. Through the half-open door, he can see into the living room where Steve lay sprawled on the sofa, fast asleep. His tight t-shirt rides up slightly, displaying his well-muscled belly, the points of his hips jut above his low-slung sweatpants. With the warm morning light turning his hair a lustrous gold, he looks even more angelic than usual. 

And then Bucky realizes why he must be there, out in the common space, so conspicuously displayed. This is an unmistakable signal. Of course he still wants Bucky. He’s said so repeatedly. And here he is telling Bucky exactly how he wants him. Bucky tosses the robe back on its hook, snatches the bottle of lube from the nightstand, and strides naked into the living room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mild violence, plus here's your friendly reminder to check the warnings above.

Steve is dreaming again, another one of those embarrassingly vivid dreams. Bucky’s hands explore Steve’s body, delicately tracing the naked skin exposed below his t-shirt. Amazing how gentle and precise those hands can be, even the metal one. The flesh hand glides under the loose waist of Steve’s sweatpants to close around his cock. With just the right amount of pressure and just the right pace, dream-Bucky brings Steve to full hardness almost immediately. It sends a giddy thrill through Steve, how familiar this has become, but the feeling is immediately followed by a stab of guilt. 

From what Steve had caught a glimpse of last night, it seems Bucky is doing plenty of sexual exploration on his own, and it isn’t fair for Steve to be using the thought of Bucky for his own prurient purposes. Then again, Steve isn’t responsible for what his subconscious does in dreams, is he? 

Steve lets himself sigh in pleasure as dream-Bucky eases Steve’s pants down around his knees and pushes his thighs apart. Besides, Steve thinks as he feels Bucky’s metal fingers tease at his hole, wet with slick, it’s no worse than remembering the times he and Bucky had been together before. Sure, Bucky’s fingers had been flesh then, instead of metal, but he’d still had rough hands, laborer’s hands with plenty of callouses, and he’d always opened Steve up with the same gentle certainty, inviting himself in like he had every right. And he did, does, has had since they’d been old enough to fool around. 

Steve has never been able to get enough of Bucky. And if Bucky isn’t ready to be with him right now, well, these dreams seem to Steve like an excusable consolation prize. As Bucky’s fingers rotate and prod, Steve relaxes into the pleasure of his fantasy. He breathes out a long sigh with Bucky’s name on his lips. 

“Shh,” Bucky whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

“Hm?” Steve frowns. Something isn’t right about that. He shouldn’t be asleep in a dream. 

Bucky’s hands on him, and in him, slow, and Steve feels a gut-churning sense of vertigo, as if looking down into a deep chasm at a fall that might kill. His eyes flick open to see Bucky beside him, head bowed, body limned with pale, early-morning light. 

“Huh?” Steve jerks fully awake, cheeks flushing hotly at having been caught in the midst of a shameful dream. But as he moves, he registers that his sweatpants are tangled around his knees, his cock is fully hard and encircled in a warm hand, and his ass is clenched around three unyielding metal fingers. “Bucky?” 

Bucky’s kneeling in front of the sofa, smirking as he stares at Steve’s cock, working Steve with both hands. He’s fully nude, skin and scars alike exposed in detail Steve hadn’t seen last night. “Shh,” Bucky whispers, then gives the head of Steve’s cock a languid swipe with his tongue. “Just relax. Go back to sleep.”

“What?”

Bucky’s eyes snap to Steve. In an instant, his expression of delight crumples into one of anguish. He jerks his hands away and starts to stand. “I’m sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to.”

“Bucky, what—“

Bucky darts forward and grabs Steve by the throat, hauls him off the couch, and then pushes him to the floor. With combat-honed instincts that override his shell-shocked brain, Steve manages to catch himself. Instantly, Bucky kicks his arms out from under him, sending him sprawling on his belly. Steve struggles as his wrists are caught up in a bruising grip. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says quietly. “Just stay down.”

“Bucky!” When Steve twists to look behind him, Bucky grabs a handful of hair and slams Steve’s head against the hardwood floor. Steve hears a crack as his nose gives ways, and feels a gush of coppery blood down his throat. He’s still sputtering when a knee jabs into the base of his spine, knocking the wind out of him as he’s pinned to the ground. 

“Stay down.” 

Bucky’s voice is a low growl ear in his ear. Steve throws his weight to the side, but Bucky’s too heavy to unseat without more leverage. Why is this happening? Is this some kind of conditioning, triggered accidentally? “Bucky, don’t do this. I know you can—“

“Shut up.” A metal hand clamps over Steve’s mouth. “Don’t make this worse.”

Steve thrashes and kicks, but can’t throw Bucky, and can’t get any air. The pinch of desperation that comes with oxygen desperation unlocks a primal kind of panic that Steve forces down. He has to think, has to fight. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Steve.”

Steve freezes in his frantic struggles. Bucky had called him by name. The Winter Soldier had never done that. He hadn’t known who Steve was, other than a target. If this wasn’t a reversion to his Hydra programming, then what—

“Good, don’t fight me.” Bucky shifts, draping himself over Steve. He lets go of Steve’s face, and Steve has only a moment to gasp in a breath and register Bucky moving before he feel’s the insistent press of a warm bulk-- Bucky’s cock—against his ass.

“Stop!” Steve tries again to shake Bucky off, but Bucky holds Steve firm and snaps his hips forward, easily penetrating Steve’s slick, stretched-open ass. As he begins to thrust, he presses his chest down against Steve’s wrists where they’re pinned. 

“Hush. It’ll be over soon.”

“Bucky, don’t.” Steve turns his head, trying to see Bucky’s face, but he’s greeted by a merciless left hook. As he lays dazed, Bucky releases his grip on Steve’s wrists. His hand snakes under Steve’s body to palm his cock, going soft now. He gives it a gentle tug, but when Steve resumes his struggles, the hand withdraws. 

“Ok. Ok,” Bucky says as he gathers Steve’s wrists again in an implacable metal grip, and shoves them up behind Steve’s back until his shoulders burn from the strain. “Don’t fight. I know it’s hard, but it goes faster that way.”

Bucky fucks him with more force, jolting him across the smooth floor a little with every thrust. From his vantage point, Steve can see the bottom of the couch, and a triangle of open floor leading to the kitchen. Nothing out of place. There’s no sign anyone else is in the apartment. Is there a Hydra agent here, manipulating Bucky? Or was there some kind of remote trigger? 

Bucky’s flesh hand grabs hold of Steve’s hip, squeezing tight as he forces himself into Steve over and over. Steve lets his eyes drift shut. He can feel the steady tickle of blood down his face, but it seems distant in comparison to the cock slamming into him. This is Bucky, he reminds himself. Steve wanted this, fantasized about it. If this _is_ some manifestation of Bucky’s old programming, maybe he picked up on Steve’s hidden desires. Steve probably hasn’t been hiding his sinful thoughts very well. God knows they’ve been getting worse lately, more blatant, more frequent. Maybe Steve caused this. He lets himself go limp as Bucky fucks him. If Steve is responsible for this happening, he can’t make it any harder on Bucky.

“Good boy,” Bucky whispers as he changes angles and leans over Steve. “You like that? Yeah, fucking take it. That’s it.” Bucky reaches around to give Steve’s cock another squeeze. He’s still half hard, and under Bucky’s expert touch, it isn’t long before he’s all the way there again. 

Now that the initial rush of terror has passed, Steve thinks the pain isn’t so bad. It’s not so much that Bucky’s trying to hurt him, just get him to comply. Now that Steve’s not resisting, he’s surprised at how good this can still feel, good enough to break through the heavy weight of shame that surrounds him and make his breathing quicken, make his hips push into Bucky’s touch. If he ignores the throbbing in his face and the taste of blood, he can almost imagine that this is what he dreamed of, that Bucky really wants him. Steve bites back a sob as he comes, spurting onto Bucky’s hand and all over the clean floor. 

“That right. You love it. Fucking slut. You were made for this.” Bucky fucks him through it, forcing him down, heedless of the mess Steve has made. His thrusts are deep and powerful, as if he’s putting his whole weight behind them. Steve presses his palms to the floor and endures, still shaking slightly in the aftermath of his own release. 

Bucky’s breathing is more ragged now, uneven. Steve knows that rhythm. He’s heard it dozens of times, maybe hundreds: the sound of Bucky nearing completion, excited out of his mind, but with enough control to remember they couldn’t get caught fucking. It was a habit born in crowded tenement buildings and solidified in the Army, and now here it is in the 21st Century, when everything is supposed to be easier, supposed to be safe. One quiet grunt, then Bucky’s breath stops entirely and his hand squeezes Steve’s hip as he shoots his load inside Steve. He gives a handful of final, brutal thrusts, then collapses onto Steve’s back. 

Steve breathes for thirty seconds, just to make sure he’s got ahold of himself, then slowly starts to shift towards a position where he might be able to throw Bucky off. But in the next moment, Bucky pushes to his feet, pats Steve firmly on the ass, and strides out of the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve listens, frozen in place, but instead of the click of the front door, he hears the kitchen faucet turn on. Gingerly, he rolls onto his side. The—the rape itself, as rough as it had been, seemingly hasn’t caused any injuries. Steve feels damp and loose and a little sore, but there’s not much pain, not there. Apparently Buck had taken the time to prepare him, just like in Steve’s dream. How much of that fantasy hadn’t been imagination, anyway? 

Steve’s sweatpants have bunched up around one ankle. With a little difficulty, he manages to tug them back into place. He has to get up. Bucky might be confused, even hurt. He resists the urge to curl in on himself and lie still—a broken nose is hardly a serious injury—but he’s only made it up onto his knees by the time Bucky comes stalking back down the hall. 

Steve scrambles to his feet and falls into a defensive stance, but Bucky doesn’t even glance his way, heading instead for the coffee table in front of their two overstuffed armchairs. Only then does Steve register that Bucky’s carrying two mugs in one hand, both brimming with coffee, a couple of plates, napkins, and utensils in the other, a tub of cream cheese under one arm, and holding the end of a bag of bagels in his teeth. Steve stares as Bucky unloads everything onto the table, then turns to hold out a coffee mug to Steve. 

“I put a disgusting amount of sugar in it, just like you like,” Bucky says.

Steve takes the mug automatically, then sinks down to sit on the couch as Bucky turns away again. 

“I’m really sorry about waking you up,” Bucky says as he digs out a bagel and begins sawing through it with one of the knives he’s brought. “One of us was going to slip up sooner or later. I guess it’s only a matter of time when we’re doing it so often. Still, obviously, I didn’t want you to get hurt. Oh yeah, which reminds me.” Bucky steps toward Steve and clamps his metal hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve automatically grabs that arm, ready to break the grip, but Bucky reaches up with his other hand and tugs Steve’s broken nose back into alignment. “There.” He flashes a grin before turning back to the food. “Don’t want it healing crooked. Your mug doesn’t need any more ugly, Rogers. You want a bagel?”

Steve’s head shakes slowly side to side, without any prompting from his brain. 

“More for me,” Bucky shrugs. “Anyway, I’ll get better at not waking you up when I’m fucking you. I haven’t had _that_ much practice yet. We can plan better next time.” He peels the lid off the cream cheese and starts slathering it onto half of his bagel. “At least you didn’t struggle too much, so I didn’t have to really hurt you. Do you think sleeping pills would help? Maybe it’s only because my serum’s the knockoff version, but—“

“Jarvis,” Steve croaks. “Did anyone access the apartment in the last 12 hours?”

“No, Captain Rogers.” Jarvis’s disembodied voice sounds entirely too calm for the circumstances. “No one has entered or left the apartment since you and Sergeant Barnes returned at 18:33 yesterday.”

Steve’s mind feels sluggish. He’s not sure he’s processing Jarvis’s words right. There has to be something he’s not thinking of that would explain what’s happening. 

“Steve, what’s wrong?” Bucky’s on his feet, breakfast abandoned, scanning the room with concern. 

“What about electronic access?” Steve asks. He can’t make sense of what Bucky’s saying. Some stimulus has to have triggered a flashback, a break with reality, something. “Some kind of hacking?”

“These kinds of activities produce an emergency alert in my notification protocols. There has been no such breach,” Jarvis replies. 

“Steve?” Bucky reaches for Steve, but Steve blocks and sidesteps, positioning himself closer to the room’s only exit, hands up in a defensive posture. “Steve.” Bucky raises both hands and takes a step back. “What’s the matter? You’re scaring me, here.”

There’s so much Steve doesn’t know—that no one knows—about Bucky’s conditioning. Maybe the programming doesn’t need an external trigger. Bucky’s not acting like the Winter Soldier, exactly, but he’s definitely not right. He would never hurt Steve. In fact, he’s told Steve before, at least half a dozen times, that he’d rather be hurt, even killed, than be responsible for hurting Steve again. 

“Steve?” Bucky takes a slow step towards him, and Steve retreats once more. 

If Bucky attacks him again, could Steve stop him? His stomach clenches as he realizes the answer is no. Not without seriously injuring him, or letting himself get seriously injured. And when they get through this episode, whatever this is, Steve can’t have Bucky beating himself up over what he’d done when he wasn’t in control. Bucky can rival Steve himself for internal guilt trips, and he definitely doesn’t deserve that, especially since it’s even odds that Steve’s own lustful actions caused this problem in the first place. Steve has to stop this before things go any further. 

“Jarvis,” Steve says. “Engage security protocol Dunkirk.”

“Activating,” Jarvis says. Faintly, from far away, Steve hears an alarm begin to blare.

“Steve, what’s wrong? Talk to me.” Bucky starts towards Steve again. Steve waits until he’s in striking distance, then delivers a full-force punch that sends Bucky stumbling backwards. Steve turns and runs, stocking feet sliding on hardwood as he turns into the hallway. As he races to the front door, he can hear the emergency shutters slamming down on all the windows. 

“Steve!”

Steve wrenches open the door and charges through. He catches a glimpse of Bucky standing at the far end of the hall, staring open-mouthed as the bright morning light is closed off around him. He turns to look at Steve, eyes wide, afraid. The front door slams, engaging the emergency mechanism, locking Bucky inside alone.


	7. Chapter 7

“Steve!” Bucky’s voice bounces back at him from against the closed door. The handle doesn’t budge when he tries it. Before he throws his weight against the door, a realization freezes him. Steve, who never ran away from a fight in his life, _had run away from Bucky._

“Jarvis,” he says, not certain if the AI will respond to him. “Is Steve hurt?”

“The current security protocols prevent me from sharing information about conditions outside of the apartment,” Jarvis reports. 

“Ok.” Bucky thinks about that for a moment. “Was he injured before he left?” 

“Captain Rogers appeared to be moving under his own power, with no significant impairment.”

“Good.” That’s the most important thing, even if Bucky doesn’t understand what’s happening now. He makes his way back through the apartment, methodically checking all the exits he’d catalogued when he first moved in: windows, ventilation access points, laundry chute. All sealed. Why had Steve activated a security protocol like this? He’d better not be rushing into danger and trapping Bucky here in a misguided attempt to keep him safe. Even if he is, why wouldn’t he just say so? It isn’t like he’s ever held back from telling Bucky what he thought, the stubborn little shit. 

Bucky stops by his room to check the windows—sealed off—and grabs his phone off the charger. When he tries to call Steve, he can’t get a signal. That had never been a problem anywhere in the Tower before. “Jarvis, is there a communications blackout in place?”

“The information I’m able to disclose about the functional details of the current protocol is extremely limited.”

“All right.” Bucky considers Jarvis’s phrasing as he retrieves the weapons he’s stashed in their living space. Just the basics: knives, handguns, a modest sniper rifle. Steve has forbidden storing grenades in the apartment. “Who originated this protocol, Jarvis?”

“Mr. Stark designed it based on similar protocols and equipment employed in Dr. Banner’s quarters. I am given to understand that the implementation of this precaution was a condition of Captain Rogers moving you here to the Tower.”

“Smart. Should have thought of that myself.” Bucky knows what he was capable of as Hydra’s puppet. Anything designed to stop him from hurting Steve has Bucky’s seal of approval. But that can’t be the whole story. Jarvis had just said Steve wasn’t injured. 

Bucky sits down on the couch where Steve had been just minutes ago and pulls out his favorite knife to have something to do with his hands. He sorts through his memories of the last 24 hours, searching for any of the usual markers of a blackout or memory lapse. Just because he isn’t conscious of losing time doesn’t mean he hasn’t. 

But it’s been months since any of that has been a problem. He and Steve have settled into a routine. Steve hassles him about leaving dishes in the sink. He gives Steve crap about his terrible taste in music. They eat dinner together and watch hilarious future TV. The sex has been good. 

Yeah, they’d had a little hiccup this morning, but on the scale of bad things that can happen during sex, this barely registers. Steve had been up and drinking coffee with Bucky five minutes after they’d finished. Something else had to have happened to send Steve tearing out of here. But Bucky can’t remember. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” Jarvis breaks into the looming silence. “There’s an incoming call that I’m authorized to route to your phone. Please stand by.”

Bucky digs the phone out of his pocket and presses it to his ear. “Steve?”

“It’s me.” Romanoff’s voice. He can picture her careful lack of expression, bland as her inflection.

“Is Steve ok?”

“He’s not injured,” she says, and Bucky closes his eyes and breathes out. “He asked me to call and check on you. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, except for having no goddamn idea what’s going on. What the hell happened?”

“We think an accidental trigger set off your conditioning somehow.”

Bucky reviews his recollection of the morning yet again, but can’t figure out what she might mean. “Nat, I don’t remember anything like that. Can you just tell me what happened?”

“We’re going to find out. In the meantime, we just need to keep you contained until we’re sure you’re safe to be around.”

“I’ll never be _safe_ to be around,” Bucky snaps. He squeezes the grip of his knife, resisting the urge to stab the sofa. He and Steve had argued for a week to decide on one they both liked. It hadn’t done anything to deserve getting stabbed.

“Well,” Natasha says, “I’d settle for ‘not programmed to attack Captain America.’”

“I attacked Steve?” Bucky remembers Steve’s face on the hellicarrier, beaten almost beyond recognition, looking up at him and not resisting. That wasn’t going to happen again. It hadn’t happened again. “When? You said he wasn’t hurt. I don’t—“

“Just tell me everything you remember since you got up this morning,” Romanoff says. 

“I woke up.” Bucky pictures it, walks himself through the memory to make sure he doesn’t miss anything. “Was going to get dressed, but then I saw Steve on the couch out in the living room. He does stuff like that when he wants to get laid. Sleeps in the buff, spend the whole evening licking a damn popsicle, you know. He’s never been shy about asking for it when he’s in the mood.” 

An image drifts through Bucky’s mind of Steve, skinny and stern, shoving a hand down Bucky’s pants and pushing him back against a door. That can’t be a real memory, though, can it? Why would Steve start something when they were both awake?

“Barnes?” Romanoff prompts. 

“I’m here,” he says. “I went out into the living room. At first it was just like every other time. I got him hard, got him slicked up. How much detail do you want, exactly?”

“Anything that might be important,” she says, and he can almost see the half-smile she must be wearing.

“He was kind of muttering in his sleep, but he does that a lot, so I didn’t think anything of it. Anyway, I was about to go down on him when he woke up. It’s the first time that’s happened since we’ve been sleeping together, at least in this century. Before that, I don’t really remember.” Another image teases at the edges of his mind—a dark forest, his knees cold in the snow and his hands warm under Steve’s untucked shirt as Bucky sucks his cock. Steve’s blue eyes wide in the moonlight, his mouth open and gasping in pleasure. An old fantasy, perhaps, or a dream?

“Go on,” Natasha says. 

“We finished pretty quick after that. He didn’t fight much. I really only had to hit him once. We both got off.” Bucky definitely remembers the heady feeling of Steve spilling into Bucky’s hand while Bucky fucked him. 

There were other times like that, he thinks. One swims to the surface of his mind, Steve panting encouragement as he bounced on Bucky’s cock, straddling him. Steve had come all over his chest, and then leaned down and kissed him. But that couldn’t have happened. Maybe one of those mixed up memories from something he saw in a movie or read in a mission briefing? He pushes on with his report. “Then I put on some clothes and made us coffee. Brought it back to the living room.” 

“Did anyone get hurt?” she asks. It’s not a ridiculous question. He knows firsthand how much agony and loss of function can follow sex, but something about it dredges up a swell of fear.

“Steve’s face got banged up a little. Broke his nose. Didn’t look too bad, though. We’ve both done worse sparring.” He stops to consider that a broken nose might be more uncomfortable for Steve than for Bucky, because Steve’s baseline pain levels are so much lower. “Is he ok?”

“Just tell me what happened next.”

That’s not the answer Bucky wanted. He grits his teeth and carries on. “I apologized for waking him up. I wanted to talk about how I could make it better next time. I started to say something about the knockout compound Bruce is working on. Then he started acting squirrely. Talking to Jarvis, ignoring me. Next thing I know, he socks me and runs out.”

There’s a pause, and then Natasha says, “Is that all you remember?”

“Yeah.” Bucky runs his thumb along the flat of his knife. There’s other memories tugging at him now. Pinning Steve’s narrow body to the rumpled bed with Steve’s legs wrapped around Bucky’s waist as they both stifle laughter in between shushing each other. Steve staring into Bucky’s eyes in the light of a flickering fire as they touch each other under the cover of a scratchy Army-issue blanket. Steve sitting with his legs spread on top of the rickety kitchen table as he palms his cock and whispers filth about how much it turns him on to have Bucky watch. These have to be real—they feel vivid and alive, like he could taste them. As soon as he’s thought so, a crowd of similar memories pushes in, smothering him.

“Barnes?” Romanoff’s voice on the phone sounds distant. 

That’s what sex with Steve is like—gentle and playful, quiet and intense, sometimes rough and angry, sometimes urgent and afraid, but always, always together. That’s how it’s always been. But now he can feel Steve struggling under him, hear Steve shouting at him to stop, smell the sharp tang of blood as it smears over Steve’s lips. _“No,”_ he’d said. _“Don’t do this.”_

“Barnes? You still there?” Romanoff’s voice is clipped, insistent. “Talk to me.” 

“Sorry, I have to go,” Bucky says, and he hangs up the phone.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve sits on Sam’s couch, because Natasha refuses to disclose the location of her rooms in the Tower—if she even has any—and because Sam makes a great breakfast. Also, Steve’s starting to think Sam and Natasha might be an item. In any case, she had been in a tank top and yoga pants when Steve had arrived, and Sam was just in his boxers. As soon as Steve had stammered out the basic situation, she’d ordered him onto the couch and gone into the other room to call Bucky. Someone has to check on him. He’s probably confused. He might be hurt.

“Want to tell me what happened?” Sam asks as he presses a tall glass of orange juice into Steve’s hand.

Steve wraps both hands around the cup, thinks briefly of the coffee Bucky had made for him, probably cold now, if Steve hadn’t dropped it on the floor when he’d run out. He doesn’t answer. 

“At least tell me if you need medical attention,” Sam says. “That was your blood, right?”

Steve raises the cold washcloth he’d been given to his face, which has stopped bleeding. “Yeah. I’m fine. Doesn’t even hurt any more.”

“OK. Then you can help crack eggs.” Sam walks into the kitchen, obviously expecting Steve to follow. When Steve arrives at the kitchen table, Sam plops a bowl and a carton of eggs in front of him, and goes back to tending something on the stove. “So?” Sam says. 

Steve cracks an egg and watches the yolk slosh into the bowl. Sam had had a hard time believing, at first, that Bucky was the kind you save. Now they’re something like friends. They go _bowling_ together at the lanes set up on a floor of the Tower Steve has never visited, and Bucky always comes back with something like a smile on his face. Steve can’t jeopardize the life Bucky has been building by giving anyone cause for suspicion. But what happened can’t be Bucky’s fault. Sam wouldn’t hate Bucky because of this, would he?

“OK, think that’s enough.” Sam puts his hand gently on top of Steve’s, clutched around the remains of an egg, which is slowly falling, shards of shell and all, into the bowl. Sam takes away the eggs, hands Steve a towel, and doesn’t try to get any more conversation out of him. 

Natasha arrives with Steve’s phone in her hand. She stops in the doorway and looks from Sam to Steve. “You going to tell us what happened?”

“Is Bucky ok?” Steve asks immediately.

“Funny, he asked the same about you,” Natasha says. “Didn’t know what to tell him.”

“I’m fine.” Steve pushes to his feet. “I should go back. If the episode or flashback or whatever it was is over, he’ll be upset.” Steve tries to step past her, but she plants herself directly in the doorway.

“He is upset. And I think he has reason to be.”

Steve narrows his eyes at her. “He can’t help what they programmed him to do. It wasn’t his fault. I should go back and—“ She holds out a hand to stop him, and he can’t quite suppress his manners enough try to shove her out of the way.

“Jarvis will let us know if he’s about to do something particularly stupid. In the meantime, the quickest way to help him is to get your head on straight. Barnes already told me what he remembers. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Steve’s eyes dart to Sam over by the stove, who raises an eyebrow at him. He looks back to Natasha, willing her to understand. She watches him a moment, then turns to Sam. “Do you mind being in charge of breakfast?”

“I can do that,” he says, and gives Natasha a nod and Steve a thin smile. If he thinks Steve doesn’t trust him, he’s wrong, but that’s something Steve can make up to him later. Maybe. Even if Sam’s sore at him for a while, it’s worth it for the sake of Bucky’s privacy.

Natasha leads the way back out to the living room and perches on one of Sam’s overstuffed chairs. Steve waits until he hears Sam turn on music in the kitchen before he returns to his spot on the couch. Natasha looks at him, waiting. Steve knows that look. She’s not going to let him leave until she gets some kind of answer. 

“Bucky attacked me,” Steve says.

“That’s what you said when you got here,” she points out. “Care to elaborate?”

“Not particularly.”

“Well.” She settles back into her chair and tucks her feet up under her. “Barnes said the two of you had sex—consensual sex—and that this wasn’t that different from how you usually do it.”

Steve’s back in his own living room, then, feeling Bucky’s metal fingers inside him, struggling to get away. He shakes his head. “What would make him think that? Are his memories being tampered with, or—wait. Usually do it?” Steve feels a stab of fear as images from the erotic dreams he’s been having crowd to the front of his mind. Could they have been something other than wishful thinking and pent-up sexual energy? 

“You haven’t been having sex?” Natasha asks.

“Not since ’45, no. Why would he remember us having sex if I don’t?” Had Bucky been able to see Steve’s dreams, somehow? Wanda had done something like that once, before she’d mastered her powers, and who knows what kind of abilities Hydra’s experiments had unlocked in Bucky.

Natasha’s lips press together in a thin line. “You read the files on the Winter Soldier.”

That sharpens Steve’s attention. “Every page.”

“There’s material I didn’t release.”

“And you didn’t tell me about it?” Steve’s on his feet in an instant, fists balled at his sides. 

Natasha looks up at him, but she doesn’t seem in the least intimidated. “Some things it’s better not to know.”

“And why should you be the judge of who gets to know?”

“I’m not,” she says calmly. “I asked Barnes if he wanted to release these. He told me to keep them until I thought it might be important for someone to see them. Someone meaning you, I imagine.”

“Oh.” Steve sinks back down onto the couch. He’s tired, suddenly, like he’s been through combat and a double-time march besides.

“I understand what it’s like to have your past chase you,” she says quietly. “Barnes doesn’t deserve that.”

“I would give anything to understand what’s happening with him.” He looks at Natasha. “Nothing they did is going to make me think less of him.”

Natasha watches his face for a moment, then gives a curt nod. “I’m doing this because Barnes needs you, and my bet is we don’t have time to talk this out before he has a total meltdown.” She grabs a laptop from the side table and settles on the couch next to Steve. It’s not her usual lazy sprawl, and Steve puzzles over it for a moment before he realizes she’s giving him space, as if he’s wounded. As if he might be afraid of being touched. 

He leans forward to get a better view of the laptop, letting their shoulders bump, and decides that he doesn’t feel any discomfort with the contact. He doesn’t need to be treated with kid gloves. He’s not even injured—his nose is almost entirely healed by now. 

Natasha raises and eyebrow at him, but doesn’t comment. She presses a button on the keyboard and a video begins to play. “This is Riga, Latvia, 1988.”

The footage is in color, but slightly grainy in the way Steve has learned to associate with videotape. The shot is from a high angle, probably a security camera, and shows what looks like a medical examination room. Bucky is there, lying naked and face down, half on top of a bare metal exam table. Steve grabs the computer and pulls it onto his lap. 

In the video, Bucky’s not restrained, but he’s limp, unresponsive, even though there’s a man in a soldier’s uniform fucking him from behind hard enough to rattle the table. The other uniformed men in the room are chatting, laughing. A few have their dicks in their hands, watching Bucky’s unconscious form with predatory glee.

They’d raped him. Steve had known that, intellectually. He’s noticed vague allusions to the sexual abuse of the Asset in Hydra documents he’s read. But seeing this is not the same. Bucky’s said a lot of his memories from his time with Hydra feel distant, like they happened to someone else. Maybe he doesn’t really remember. Steve’s eyes drift shut for a moment, and he can almost imagine it’s happening to him, the unwanted stab of a cock inside of him as he lays unresisting. He hopes Bucky doesn’t remember.

“There’s dozens of tapes like this,” Natasha says. “Seems to have been a common procedure, maybe even part of some protocol. It’s not that bad, at least until he wakes up. We don’t have to watch that.” Natasha reaches for the laptop, but Steve holds on.

“What happens when he wakes up?” Steve watches the soldier on the screen slap Bucky on the ass and walk away, while another one steps up, tugging at his fly. On the table, Bucky begins to stir.

“Things get violent.” Natasha extracts the laptop from Steve’s grip and closes it. “He’s told me his memories from before the fall are spotty. Experiences like this may be his only frame of reference for sex. It’s a thing that happens—if you’re lucky—when you’re unconscious. It gets worse if you wake up.”

“He’s been taking sleeping pills,” Steve says slowly. “He kept saying how deeply he’d sleep, that there was no way he would wake up. He expected me to do that.” Steve waves at the laptop. “I didn’t….”

“I can go talk to him, if you want. He’ll listen to me.” Her voice is careful, neutral. “What happened may have been unintentional, but that doesn’t mean you’re not—“

“I’m fine, Nat.” Steve shoves to his feet again. “He shouldn’t be alone right now. I probably scared the life out of him, running away like something was really wrong.”

“Something _is_ really wrong,” Natasha says. She sets the laptop aside and reaches for him. “Steve—“

“I told you, I’m fine,” he says as he pulls out of reach. “It was a misunderstanding. I just thought—“ Steve lets out a long breath, and makes his mind slide right past the panic he’d felt. “It’s not like I’d have said no if I’d been awake. It’s not as if something bad happened.”

“Steve—“

“You’re right.” He takes a step back. “I’ve got to get back. He shouldn’t have to sweat it out while I’m out here worrying over nothing. I’ve got to tell him everything’s ok.”

“I don’t think you’re really listening to me,” Natasha says. She’s on her feet now, but she doesn’t try to follow him or block his way. 

“I’ve got to go. Thanks for helping me get my head on straight.” He tugs open the door. “Tell Sam I’ll take a rain check on breakfast.”

She holds out a hand. “Rogers, don’t—“

He steps out the door and lets it swing shut behind him, then hurries back to where Bucky is waiting.


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky doesn’t have to wait as long as he feared. He’s a sniper, trained to be still for as long as it takes to get the shot, but his focus isn’t up to his usual standards. The kitchen’s tile floor is cold on his bare feet, his hand aches from gripping his favorite knife, and the coffee he hadn’t finished still tastes bitter on his tongue. He’s distracted by all kinds of minutiae he’d been able to ignore when he was the Asset. And there’s the problem right there—the Asset knew his place. And though Bucky thought he’d figured out his place here in his new life, there’s a growing seed of doubt inside him that says maybe he’s been wrong: that instead of settling in, he’s just been tearing an Asset-shaped hole in Steve’s life, and there never was any hope of them fitting together right, not ever again. The sound of the emergency lock mechanism disengaging makes him start, and he only has a second to ready himself before Steve comes into view. 

Bucky reverses his grip on his knife so the motion will catch Steve’s eye. Then, charging into the hall, he catches Steve with a full-force shove. Steve slams into the far wall, leaving a sizeable dent, but blocks the kick that would have knocked his legs out from under him. Bucky deliberately leaves himself open to a punch, but Steve doesn’t even take a swing. He’s wearing a blank, slightly puzzled expression, not the frown of concentration he usually wears in battle. He shouldn’t be distracted, not when he knows so intimately the kind of damage that Bucky can do. Bucky aims a slow roundhouse toward Steve’s face, which Steve catches easily. With that leverage, he’s able to toss Bucky back through the doorway and onto the kitchen floor.

As he rolls and comes up in a crouch, Bucky sees Steve hesitate, dropping out of defensive posture. Bucky can’t let Steve start to think. Steve is stronger, and he’s faster. He should easily win against Bucky. But he can’t win if he won’t fight, as Bucky recently learned the hard way. Bucky adjusts his grip on his knife again and throws it close enough to tear the fabric of Steve’s sleeve on its way to the opposite wall. That’s enough to make Steve tackle him. 

Bucky makes Steve work for the pin, twisting and writhing so that Steve has to use all four limbs to immobilize him, which he does in under a minute. He’s bigger, and he’s a better fighter. It’s absurd that he ever let Bucky hold him down, much less let Bucky fuck him, hurt him, scare him. That thought sends a fresh swell of rage rushing through Bucky, and he redoubles his struggles, thrashing until Steve gets him on his belly and pulls his arms up behind his back, sending shooting pain through all the nerves wired into his prosthetic. Bucky goes limp, panting against the cool tile. 

“Go on,” Bucky says. He hopes his voice sounds steady enough. He’s having trouble breathing, though it doesn’t seem to be related to Steve’s weight on top of him. But this is what he wanted. This is what he needs. “Go on,” he says, louder.

Steve has to want to fuck him, after this. He has to be willing to take whatever pleasure using Bucky can offer. Because if Steve doesn’t, if Steve never wanted any of this, then Bucky is as much of a monster as his old handlers. 

“Please!” Bucky pushes his hips up, shoving his ass against Steve, but he doesn’t feel the hard outline of an erection. His chest tightens, and he can’t draw in air. 

“It’s ok.” Steve doesn’t loosen his hold, but he presses a kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Bucky shakes his head frantically. Steve is supposed to hurt him. That’s how this works. He’s at Steve’s mercy, and he’s awake. Maybe it hadn’t always been like this between them, but there are rules for handling the Asset. Steve has to hurt him now. Bucky can’t have been so wrong about everything. 

“It’s ok,” Steve says again. He lets go of Bucky’s arms and tugs him over onto his back. Bucky flinches, bracing for a blow, but when Steve grips his shoulders, he goes limp. He deserves whatever Steve wants to do. He squeezes his eyes shut, and he can almost imagine that he’s asleep, that this might not hurt. 

He feels a soft kiss against his throat, then another at the corner of his mouth. He gulps in a breath, expecting pain at any second. But Steve presses against him, holding him and pulling in deep shuddering breaths of his own, and he doesn’t let go.


	10. Chapter 10

_Six months later_

Steve surveys the naked form in his bed, the luxurious expanse of Bucky’s pale skin his to enjoy. Normally Bucky doesn’t let Steve indulge in this much staring, but he’s pretending to be asleep, so he can’t object. He’s sprawled on his back, taking up most of Steve’s bed. As usual at this point in the proceedings, he’s already hard. Steve catches a glimpse of black silicone between Bucky’s legs—the base of his favorite butt plug—and knows Bucky must have thoroughly prepared himself while waiting for Steve to get home.

Running his hand slowly up Bucky’s naked body results in a shiver and the hint of a smile Bucky can’t quite hide. 

“I’m lucky I’ve got such a nice-looking fella at my mercy,” Steve says. “Might have to suck his cock, just to see if it tastes as nice as it looks.”

Bucky’s belly shakes a bit—holding in laughter, Steve knows from experience. Steve figures he’ll always feel a little self-conscious talking to himself and pretending Bucky can’t hear him, but some mild embarrassment is a small price to pay for doing this in a way that allows Bucky to accept gentle treatment. 

From all the things they’ve tried in the past few months, they’ve both learned what they can and can’t tolerate (Bucky freezes up and goes docile and unresponsive if Steve tries to initiate sex while he’s awake, and Steve’s flashbacks to that misunderstanding in their living room crop up every time the Asset’s expected pattern requires that Steve manhandle Bucky), but this set-up may be Steve’s favorite. Bucky doesn’t have the chance to second-guess himself, and Steve gets to do some things that he’d feel silly about if Bucky were watching him. 

Steve takes advantage of Bucky’s feigned unawareness to look as much as he wants while he has Bucky in his mouth. He loves seeing pleasure in the crinkle of Bucky’s closed eyes and the helpless hitching of his hips as Steve circles his tongue around the head of Bucky’s cock. He loves feeling Bucky push back greedily against Steve’s slicked fingers, and he loves the near-silent gasps Bucky lets out as Steve slides into him, just like they’re sneaking a quick fuck in Steve’s tent somewhere at the edge of the Western Front. 

And after, when the two of them, thoroughly sated, are drifting off to not-pretend sleep, he loves how Bucky presses naked against him, with no room between them for secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the original prompt from the Hydra Trash Party:  
> https://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/2271.html?thread=4805343#cmt4805343
> 
> "As the WS, Bucky woke up in the middle of sex more often than not (lab techs, strike team, cell guards, etc), so he thinks that's how sex is supposed to happen. So after he gets back to Steve, he wants to have sex with Steve. Like, really good sex. And he knows that sex is the best before the recipient wakes up, because after they wake up, it's all roughness and pain.
> 
> Cue Steve waking up to extremely gentle handling by Bucky.
> 
> \+ Bucky has been doing it to Steve for some time  
> \+ Maybe the first time was during/after a Steve nightmare  
> \+ Bucky is super upset that Steve woke up, because it meant that the sex was bad  
> \+ Steve having all the conflicted feels because on the one hand, it felt good and he doesn't actually mind, but on the other hand, consent issues and what Bucky's not telling him."


End file.
